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What Happens When Jaggi Vasudev Ghostwrites?

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  What matters more- the Opinions or the Speaker?     Over the last couple of weeks, I had been posting some particularly bigoted views on Facebook. Some were extremely misleading and others factually and scientifically incorrect. The idea was to pass someone else's ideas, someone else's views, someone else's statements as my own. Based on the reactions that followed, I believe it was quite successful, especially towards the beginning.  These were not my statements. Those were Jaggu Vasudev's statements, you might more commonly know him as "Sadhguru". What I did was, remove the personality, the charisma, the allure, the authority of the person, and instead presented the words bare-bones. I wanted to see how people would take these statements, would they see the farce, would they still take the words with equal reverence?   The posts got varied responses, some were pissed off, offended. Some were irked. Some agreed with it and some found ...
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A Room of One's Own

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I enter Parijat’s Room (a Room of One's Own, Feminist Memory Project, Photo Kathmandu 2018) for the second time in three hours. I scan the room, leaving not even an inch unfolded. During the first visit when I remained in the room for just a while, I saw this amazing installation that reminded me of Van Gogh’s “The Bedroom”.  As I enter this homage to an almost mythic figure, I take all the time in the world as I leisurely go through everything at display. I feel, to some extent, the aura of the woman who had spent her days in the room. What Parijat had achieved from within this room was unprecedented. Or, at least that was what we were lead to believe as secondary school students. Nonetheless, Parijat was a legend. She had won the Madan Puraskar, the epitome of Nepali Literature for Sirish Ko Phool which was also translated to English. The translation- The Blue Mimosa was even included in the curriculum of University of Maryland, USA. This captured my imagination more ...
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A Meaningless Story

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"He was in love. She, was not. He loved her with all his heart and mind. His was a world consumed by her— he lived, breathed and slept in her memory. She, however, was far away, in her own land of cotton candy—living and breathing someone else. Her mind was occupied, and he was not even an afterthought. " *** Now, the scene is this— this dude has to somehow get to her, you know, tell her how he feels. I mean, not just tell her how he feels, which is easy, comparatively, you know. He can do that. This dude, here, has to make her fall for him. Now, remember, this dude is just some random Tom, Dick and Harry. Not an alpha male, not a steroid pumped hunk. Just a regular guy, you know. Like you and me. You, yes. Me? No. I could easily qualify for a hunk. Anyway, what's the problem? Just write it up. Make it up. Wave your pen, make the girl fall for him. You have that power. No, no, no. Now, this can't be any old story. I can't just "write" it, you know. I...
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